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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
from which I was aroused by the sound of distant shouts. I answered them, and the shouts grew nearer, till at length out of
the darkness emerged my Zulu servant, Mazooku.
It seemed that this last shot saved me, for really I do not
know what would have happened if I had lain all night in that
wet and frost, or if I should ever have found strength to get
on my horse again in the morning. Mazooku and other natives had been searching for me for hours, till at length all
abandoned the quest except for Mazooku, who said that he
would go on. So he wandered about over the veld till at length
his keen eyes caught sight of the fl ash from my rifl e – he was
much too far away to hear its report. He walked in the direction of the fl ash for several miles, shouting as he came, till at
length I answered him.
So, thanks to Mazooku, I escaped from that trouble, and,
what is more, took no harm, either from the fall or the chill and
exhaustion. He was a very brave and faithful fellow, and, as this
story shows, much attached to me. I think that some instinct,
lost to us but still remaining to savages, led him towards me over
that mighty sea of uninhabited veld. Or of course it may have
been pure chance, though this seems improbable. At any rate he
found me and through the darkness led me back to the camp,
which was miles away. The vituperation of Kaffi rs is a common
habit among many white men, but in diffi culty or danger may I
never have a worse friend at hand than one like the poor Kaffi r
who is prepared to die for the master whom he loves.
Ultimately the Pretoria Horse was disbanded. So many
British troops had been poured into Africa that the Boers,
with their usual slimness, thought the time inopportune to
push matters to the point of actual rebellion, and therefore
171
H. RIDER HAGGARD
dispersed to their homes to await a more favourable hour. This
came later when Sir Garnet Wolseley, who, whatever his gifts,
was not blessed with foresight, had, as I have said, despatched
all the cavalry back to England. At this time no local assistance
was required in the Zulu War. So it happened that my soldiering came to a sudden end, for which I was sorry, for I had
found the occupation congenial. Also I was, as I have said, restless and reckless, and since Sir Theophilus had left Pretoria everything seemed changed. Most of my colleagues had departed
this way and that, and one of them, old Dr. Lyle, was dead. He
had built a house near the town, purposing to settle there, but
was seized with some frightful liver complaint. I went to say
good-bye to him, and never shall I forget this last farewell. At
the door of the death-chamber I turned round. He had raised
himself on his arms and was looking after me, his dark eyes
fi lled with tenderness, shining large and round in a face that
had wasted to the size of that of a child. In a day or two he was
gone, a martyr to his own goodness if all the tale were told.
Cochrane and I took it into our heads that we would shake off
the dust of Government service and farm ostriches. As a beginning we purchased some three thousand acres of land at Newcastle in Natal from Mr. Osborn, together with the house that
he had built when he was Resident Magistrate there. We had
never seen the land and did not think it worth while to undertake the journey necessary to that purpose, as it lay two hundred
miles away. In this matter our confi dence was perfectly justifi ed,
since my dear friend Osborn had scrupulously undervalued the
whole estate, which was a most excellent one of its sort.
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
I forget what we paid him for it, but it was a very modest sum.
Or rather we did not pay him at the time, as we wished to keep
our working capital in hand, nor do I think that he demanded any
security in the shape of mortgages or promissory notes. He knew
that we should not fail him in this matter, nor did we do so.
On my part it was a mad thing to do, seeing that I had a
high offi ce and was well thought of; yet, as it chanced, the wisest that I could have done. Had I stopped on at Pretoria, within
two years I should have been thrown out of my employment
without compensation, as happened to all the other British offi cials when Mr. Gladstone surrendered the Transvaal to the
Boers after our defeat at Majuba, or at any rate to those of them
who would not take service under the Dutch Republic, as I for
one could never have consented to do.
I fi nd among my papers the letter accepting my resignation. It is as follows:
Colonial Secretary’s Offi ce,
Pretoria: May 31, 1879.
Sir, – I have the honour to acknowledge receipt of
your letter of the 29th inst. tendering the resignation of
your offi ce as Master and Registrar of the High Court, and
to inform you by direction of his Excellency that he regrets
that the Government should lose the services of an offi cer
who has performed diffi cult duties so satisfactorily.
I have the honour, sir, to be
Your obedient Servant,
M. Osborn,
Colonial Secretary.
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H. RIDER HAGGARD
I fi nd also the following letter from Mr. Kotze, the Chief
Justice.
Pretoria, Transvaal: May 24, 1879.
My dear Haggard, – Before you leave Pretoria I desire
to record my regret at losing your services as Master and
Registrar of the High Court of this territory.
For two years you have discharged the duties of this
offi ce with the greatest ability and satisfaction, and I have
every reason to believe that you carry with you the good
wishes of all who have known you here. Although I regret
that you thought it fi t to resign your post, I think you have
not acted indiscreetly in so doing. The salary (400 pounds)
attached to the offi ce of Registrar and Master is only really
equivalent to 200 pounds in England or the Cape Colony,
and although there exists the possibility of an increase
thereof, such possibility is very remote.
The Civil Service in the Transvaal offers no inducement
for young men of ambition or ability, and hence farming if
properly conducted affords a far better prospect to those
willing and able to work.
Wishing you every success in your future undertaking,
Believe me,
Very faithfully yours,
J. G. Kotze.
Here, while I am speaking of Kotze, an able judge and an
upright man, who ultimately did take service under the Boers
and met with no good treatment either from them or subse-
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THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
quently from the British Government, I will record a curious
instance of his memory.
About twenty years later he came to England and stayed
with me at Ditchingham. On his arrival I took him to the cloakroom to hang up his overcoat. On the next peg was an old frieze
ulster of mine which had survived from my early life – and, I
may add, still survives, for to this day I sometimes wear it.
“Why, Haggard,” he said, “that is the coat you used to wear
when we went on circuit together after the Annexation.”
It is curious that a man should remember a garment after
so many stormy years, especially so as he only saw it hanging
on a hook. Indeed such an incident makes one wonder whether we ever really forget anything.
So my life at Pretoria came to an end. Cochrane and I rode
away one morning to a Boer stead somewhere in the neighbourhood of where Johannesburg now stands, and bought
and paid for our ostriches. I think that Cochrane must have
driven them down to Hilldrop, our new home near Newcastle
in Natal, for I have no recollection of assisting in the business.
Nor do I remember ever visiting Hilldrop until I came thither
eighteen months or more later with my wife.
From that day to this I have never seen Pretoria or the
Transvaal, nor do I wish to see them. All is changed there, and
I should fi nd nothing but graves. I prefer to remember them as
they were when I was young.
But of Natal I was destined to see a good deal more, as I
hope to tell in the next chapter, which will deal with my life
there at the time of the Boer rebellion.
175
CHAPTER 7
MARRIAGE
One of the last things that happened before I left South
Africa was the slaying of the Prince Imperial by a Zulu outpost. Well can I remember the thrill of horror, and, I may add,
of shame, that this news sent through all the land. Yet it has
always seemed to me that the most of the blame should have
fallen, not upon the unfortunate offi cer and his companions
who were with the Prince, but on whoever allowed him to go
out upon picket duty of so peculiarly dangerous a nature. The
incident itself is easily explained. Nothing is more terrible
than a sudden rush of savages on a little party that does not
suspect their presence, especially when the attacking force
may perhaps be numbered by hundreds. The Englishmen concerned lost their heads, that was all. It was a case of sauve qui
peut. Doubtless until it was too late they thought the Prince
was with them. Well, he died as anyone might be proud to die,
and, as it seems probable, by his death changed the history
of Europe, or at any rate the destiny of France, for doubtless,
had he lived, his chance of succeeding to the imperial throne
was excellent. Again, one wonders whether such things happen by hazard, or if it were the hand of Fate that threw those
assegais.
176
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
After an absence of four eventful years I arrived in England
when I was a little over twenty-three, an age at which many
young fellows nowadays seem to be, and indeed often are, but
boys. In one thing I was fortunate: I found all belonging to me
alive and for the most part well. With my two greatest friends
of the Scoones’ period of my life, however, Arthur L. and Justin
Sheil, it was otherwise. The former was dead; he was a good
fellow, and I hope that some day and somewhere we may meet
again. Meanwhile God rest him!
My recollection is that Arthur L.‘s illness began in a form
of religious mania. If so, my other great friend, Justin Sheil,
also passed into the shadow, or the glory, of religion. Before
proceeding further with my story, here I will tell his, although
the end of it may cause me to anticipate. This I do not only
because he was, or rather is, dear to me, although he has long
been dead – for I may truly say that the change of death has in
no instance altered my affections, unless it be in the manner
of increasing them – but for two added reasons.
Of these the fi rst is that his case is the most perfect instance
of what I may call the monastic mind that I have encountered.
The second is that I presume that the iron rules of the Trappist monks, save in questions strictly connected with the advantage of their Order, allow of the preservation of no human
memorials of those who have passed on. In their graveyard at
Mount St. Bernard’s Abbey I saw certain low mounds and, at
the head of these, little nameless wooden crosses, all that remained of the brethren who had been called away. Therefore
I, a sinner, would make my humble offering to the Manes of a
177
H. RIDER HAGGARD
good man and say a few words that I trust may help to preserve
his memory among those who come after us.
As it chances, certain letters that Sheil, or Brother Basil, as
he came to be called in religion, wrote to me have survived,
although I dare say that others are lost. The fi rst of these evidently was written in answer to one of mine sent to him after
my return to England in 1879. It is dated Mount St. Bernard’s
Abbey, Leicester, October 21st.
After congratulating me on my safe return to England, it
says:
I suppose that you have not seen Walsh or the unfortunate
Norris since you came, or they would probably have told you
of my strange experiment here; I am thinking of becoming a
monk of the Cistercian Order commonly called Trappists. If
you have not heard it before I suppose you, who knew me better than most people, will be most surprised. When I fi rst came
here I intended writing to you, but I had quite forgotten your
address, and when I got it from my brother in New Zealand
I thought I might as well wait till I had made up my mind
whether to stop here or not. I may say that I am still uncertain
as to that; the life is hardish, and I am softish, but I am afraid of
dropping back into my old ways if I leave, so I am hovering....
The next letter, dated October 26th, is evidently written
in answer to one from myself, of the contents of which I have
no recollection. It is clear, however, from the context, that I attempted to dissuade Sheil from the career which he had chosen
in language that must have seemed to him almost impertinent.
In fact to a strict Roman Catholic doubtless it was impertinent.
In youth most of us are intolerant, and I was no exception to
178
THE DAYS OF MY LIFE
the rule. As we get on in life all such things vanish. Personally
today I am not prepared to quarrel with any religion worthy of
the name, unless it be that of Mahomet in certain of its aspects.
I have learned that they all spring from the same light, though
the world being, as it were, cut crystal, that light fl ows from its
facets in different-coloured rays. Here is the letter:
When I got, yesterday, your mysterious-looking letter
labelled “Private” and with an awful black seal, I wondered what dark secrets it was going to unfold. When I had
read it I think that I should have been inclined to laugh if
I had not been sorry that you should be the victim of such
dull and stale delusions with regard to monks and the motives that induce a man to become one. You have used hard
words, and you will let me add that I think it unworthy of
a man of your mental quality to live year after year confronted by the Catholic Church (pulchritudo tam antiqua
et tam nova) and be content to derive all your knowledge
of it from some vulgar Protestant pamphlet, and all your
ideas of its institutions and ways from what I suppose you
were told in the nursery. You go to the originals to discover what Hegel or Comte really teach, and you are eager enough to fi nd out all about Darwinism, etc., but as for
Catholics, you not only don’t inquire from them what they
really teach but you assume to lecture them. Having relieved my mind so far, I can assure you your letter was far
from giving me offence; on the contrary; I know very well
you are not singular in your views, and that many who
call themselves my friends think the same, but you are the
only one who has taken suffi cient interest in the matter to
179
H. RIDER HAGGARD
tell me so, and therefore I thank you. I don’t intend to defend the monastic state. It has existed since the beginning
of the fourth century, has been continually attacked, and
yet it has fl ourished; all Catholics look and have looked on
it as a higher and more perfect state, and therefore I will
assume it; it has been often and eloquently defended, and
moreover it could not be done in a letter. However, the fact
that it is good in itself is not at all a conclusive reason why
I should embrace it; and if you had tried to dissuade me
from it on the score that I had made myself unfi t and unworthy for it I should have had very little to answer. I did
not come here in consequence of any trouble of the kind
you allude to, nor any other, nor in a fi t of disgust. When
I said I was afraid if I left of dropping into my old ways,
I meant the idle, aimless, useless life I led when you knew
me and some time after: my only object was pleasure and
happiness, and I was unscrupulous in trying to get them.
However, about six months previous to coming here I had
made a great change and lived more or less as a Catholic
should: I had got out of Chancery and paid my debts and
begun reading for the Bar in a Conveyancer’s rooms, and
it was under these circumstances that I came here, and
it is what I shall resume if I leave. I prefer London and
Paris to Africa how fair soever be its skies, and the Park to
the Sahara. You see my prospects in the world are not so
darkened as you think; nevertheless they do not wear a
very fascinating smile to my eyes. For, take everything at
its best and assume that I should succeed in everything: after many years’ drudging I should be a successful barrister,
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